


Shoulder to Shoulder

by AntivanCrafts



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, The road to recovery is filled with speedbumps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-03 23:26:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15829095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntivanCrafts/pseuds/AntivanCrafts
Summary: Zevran Arainai and Loghain Mac Tir might make for unlikely friends, but pain seen and pain recognized can build strong bonds.





	Shoulder to Shoulder

The first time Loghain was even made aware of Zevran was when the crow was being ushered in to see him. He wasn’t particularly impressed by what he saw -tattoos and too quick eyes above a crooked grin- but then, he wasn’t sure what he’d expected. The crows had a reputation, and this man seemed to be doing his level best to live up to it. Even that, however, was his searching for a justification for his discomfort that went beyond the obvious. 

It was the briefest encounter, defined by the sour taste in the back of his throat. Assassins. Was that what he had been reduced to? Would he purchase distant, detached death that came with a smile like some Orlesian noble?

Apparently so.

He gave a sigh that came from deep within his bones, one that had layers to it. Layers of resignation, of frustration and of the utmost disgust, all of which was direction at more than one person in this room. He turned away from golden eyes and silver tongues and back to his thoughts.

***

The second time he spoke with Zevran was on the road after the Landsmeet, between one minor errand or another. There was a surprising amount of them. They all led to fighting in the dirt with brigands, a role that almost -more than almost- came as a relief after months of fighting in grand halls he had come to despise for what they represented. 

Most of the warden’s companions gave him a wide berth, and understandably so. Zevran, however, was one who did not. He seemed to take a perverse enjoyment in doing the exact opposite, in fact. When he wasn’t outright seeking him out, the Antivan was lounging by the fire like a particularly contented cat when Loghain had already made himself comfortable on the other side of it. He was still uncertain as to whether this was supposed to serve as a mocking reminder of their changed roles -or possibly a threat- and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “How long must I wait before you do what you came here for?” He asked sharply. 

Zevran shrugged, toying with long hair he’d braided for bed, and for a moment the firelight caught it in a way that reminded Loghain of Maric. He quickly averted his eyes, hoping his expression hadn’t given him away, but not before he caught sight of something he hadn’t expected -or wanted- to see in Zevran’s own face. Pity. It had been a long time, too long, since anyone save Anora had looked at him like that. Not as a superior or even an enemy, but- 

“That will be quite enough of that,” Loghain said, and even he wasn’t sure who that was supposed to be addressed to. 

Zevran gave a laugh, and flipped the end of his braid between his fingers. “Quite enough of what? There is quite the list of behaviors between us, as I recall.”

“How about we start with avoiding direct questions,” Loghain snorted.

“Well,” Zevran said without missing a beat, “I am a crow, as we’ve already made clear between us. I am quite experienced at avoiding things I do not wish to pierce my soft, supple body.” He followed this with a wink, to which Loghain snorted again, with emphasis. 

“You are hardly the first to try to distract me this way,” he told Zevran, which earned him raised eyebrows and a grin.

“There are oh so many things that could be read into what you just said.”

Loghain rubbed beneath his nose to disguise the beginnings of a smile and turned away to busy himself with tending the fire. 

***

Days later, Loghain found himself crouching down beside Zevran at a river’s edge. After warring with himself for quite some time -waffling, Maric would have called it- he had eventually sought the warden’s companion out rather than see to his own distractions. “You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he said almost accusingly. 

Zevran opened his eyes and glanced up at Loghain before very deliberately closing them again he settling back down. “And? What of it? It is a fine summer’s day and there are very many fish that have yet to feel the cold, clammy fear of my name.” To demonstrate, he wiggled the hand loosely clasped around a fishing pole. 

“And your friend. Maric’s son. What would he think of all of this?”

“We are all someone’s child, are we not?” Zevran said mildly, looking up at him briefly before returning his attention to his fishing. “And I do believe his opinions were made quite clear the day we traded him for you. So to speak.”

Loghain frowned, uncertain how to take this. Usually people had formed quite strong opinions about him long before they had the chance to speak, but Zevran, to all appearances, had not. “Strange.” He hadn’t realized that he’d said it aloud until he heard Zevran chuckle. 

“The trade, you mean? I suppose it was.”

“And you don’t care at all that you have lost the friendship of someone you traveled and broke bread with?” Loghain was grasping for words. He hardly knew what to say, least of all when Zevran set aside the fishing pole with an expression he recognized from the mirror. 

“He is still alive. That matters far more to me than whether he desires my death.”

That was really all there was to be said.

***

The next time truly spoke was after a long, pitched battle. The warden’s party, Loghain included, barely crawled into camp that night. No one was in a mood to do the daily tasks, and even Loghain had to make several attempts before he forced himself upward to see his duties. He didn’t do so without a grimace, however. He had sustained a sizeable wound during the skirmish, and it had only been due to quick thinking on the warden and Zevran’s parts that it wasn’t even worse than it already was. 

“It seems you aren’t entirely useless after all,” Loghain said in Zevran’s general direction after a while, to which he got a breathless laugh in return. 

“You didn’t think the crows would send a bumbling incompetent on a mission of this importance, did you?”

“Well,” Loghain rasped, “you did fail, did you not?” He leaned his head back, and so wasn’t watching so that he would have seen Zevran’s smirk, but he heard it clearly enough in the Antivan’s voice. 

“I was under the impression that we both did,” Zevran said mildly enough, but Loghain wasn’t fooled. 

Grunting, he levered himself back in order to glower at an answering smile. “Whatever is it you are trying to do, stop.” 

“I am merely returning the favor,” he was told. “This is how witty banter is traditionally performed, yes? A give, and a take. Have you forgotten, in between the battles and courtly dramas?”

Perhaps he had, Loghain admitted quietly to himself. It had been… a long time since he’d had anyone to laugh and joke with. Too long. Realizing belatedly that he’d been bristling, Loghain averted his gaze down to his hands. Without the heavy weight of his gauntlets to shield them from his eyes, his hands looked far thinner than he remembered their being. Hardly able to bear up their own weight, let alone that of the many years between banter, or so he knew some would say.  _ That _ deserved a snort, once with half a laugh behind it. “I have more than enough life in me yet to wallop you in whatever way you chose.”

There was a pause as Zevran digested that, and then Zevran threw his head back and laughed. And despite himself, Loghain found himself laughing, too. 

***

Minutes and hours and days blurred together, but not so many as some would say. Loghain found himself relaxing around Zevran more than he’d expected, or even originally wanted. He genuinely enjoyed Zevran’s company, and he thought Zevran likewise enjoyed his, though it was sometimes hard to tell. Zevran had a way about him of seeking out things for which he had an appreciation, even as he also sought out things that pained him. An interesting dichotomy. 

Loghain said as much to him one day, with his typical fact and subtlety. “Do you truly wish to live or die?” Zevran blinked at him in an almost owlish fashion, before flashing him a grin he was beginning to recognize as being an automatic response, and a defensive one. Loghain held up a hand before Zevran had time to come up with son quip or another and said, “Your actions are opposed to your words. I find myself asking which is the truth.”

“Ah,” Zevran breathed, a sound that was half a sigh and half a chuckle. “That might not be the most, hmm,  _ direct _ way of calling me a liar that I have heard in some time, but it certainly ranks highly among their number.”

Loghain’s mouth twisted in the beginnings of frustration. Again, with the dancing. “We both already know you for a liar when you wish to hide,” he said without the slightest hesitation or preamble. “What I was asking was whether that carries over to concealing a wish for death.”

Zevran started to respond, then stopped. Finally, he managed, “And what brought you to such insightful observations? Long habit?” It came out sharp, but Loghain didn’t mind. He’d born much worse than a pained, reflexive snap. 

“You forget that I was a general. I have seen the look on your face more often I care to recount. You wear the look of a man weighing the odds and finding the wrong one comforting.”

This time it was Zevran’s turn to look away. “I…” He swallowed. “It is something that dogs my steps, but with far less vigor than it did before I met our dear warden.” His gaze turned towards where the warden stood beside Morrigan, his eyes going soft. 

Loghain followed his gaze, his mouth quirking up at the corner. “I had suspected as much,” he said. “Is it..”

“Serious? That is up to the warden, is it not?” That, too, had a bite. Recognizing a fresh wound when he saw it, Loghain withdrew, and the conversation turned to safer waters. 

***

When next Loghain encountered Zevran outside of what felt like near-constant battles, the Antivan elf was mending a pair of intricately tooled leather gloves. He did so with the greatest care, holding them up to his chest. The tip of his tongue poked out between his teeth as the needle flashed in his hands. 

Loghain watched him for a time, finding a familiar sort of comfort from the regular, rhythmic movements, until Zevran asked him without looking up, “See something you like?”

Loghain was ready for him this time. “Not as much as you did, if I was to guess.” Loghain had noticed that Zevran was missing one of his earrings earlier in the evening, following a long conversation that he had tried his best not to eavesdrop on. What he  _ had _ overheard had made his chest clench up from remembered pain. You’d never guess that from his slow, easy smile now, however. 

Zevran at last set the gloves down on his lap in order to look at him properly. His eyes were crinkled in a real, honest smile, and for the first time Loghain noticed a splash of green hidden amongst the gold of his irises. “I’d thought I’d made a mistake,” Zevran then admitted quietly, his hands clenching tight before he hurriedly straightened them and smoothed out the gloves. 

“Love,” Loghain said heavily, “is never a mistake.” His shoulders felt like they were beating up a thousand pounds each, but far less so than they had used to. Strange. 

Zevran looked at him, and surprised Loghain by reaching out to clasp Loghain’s hand in between his own. “No,” came a soft, shaking answer, fervent as a prayer. “No, it is not.”

***

Zevran followed Loghain’s gaze up and up and up to the top of the palace. “Do you know,” Zevran said conversationally, “I do believe that I was never paid.”

“For failure of your task?” Loghain’s heavy brows were climbing towards his hairline but he also couldn’t help the beginnings of a smile. “I can't imagine that the crows typically reward that with anything short of cold steel.”

“A pity,” the Antivan sighed as he drew his blades and started up the first of several flights of stairs. “I had been hoping to return home in time for Satinalia. I should think even you would enjoy the week long celebrations in the streets. A little carousing would do you good.”

Loghain didn’t look aside at him as he too began the long climb, but his voice was incredulous. “Is that an invitation?”

“Only if you wish it to be.”

“I-“ Loghain swallowed. “I shall consider it.”

“Do take your time, my friend. We have all the time left in the world.”

  
  



End file.
